


Milker

by Miellat_II



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Beauty Standards, Anal Gaping, Bladder Control, Bondage, Breast Expansion, Catheters, Consent, F/M, Lactation Kink, Pseudo-Historical setting?, Rowena is always a pseudohistorical setting, Sexual Body Modification, Transformation, by alien i mean strange not literally different species, feeding tube, kink magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miellat_II/pseuds/Miellat_II
Summary: Another story with Rowena.





	Milker

Having one’s milk ducts violated was a very strange, intense sensation. It wasn’t painful, exactly, merely strange and intense, the culmination of weeks of careful massage treatments to her nipples, dilating the milk ducts enough to take the insertion of a tapered plug the diameter of a pea. It had felt enormous, but soon grew comfortable. It was then replaced by something slightly wider, and on and on, until six months later the beautician could finally insert the nozzles, and slowly apply the potion that would hyper-stimulate her lactation glands and dilate the length of her ducts. The swelling began immediately, but the congested feeling, the fullness that her body felt as so wrong, so very wrong, caused her to whimper even as she endeavoured to keep still and cooperative. The potion was body temperature, so all she felt was the liquid pushing inside her, stretching the channels that had gone so unused and atrophied her whole life, waking up the apparatus that could do such a wonder as produce food.

The beautician left her to concentrate, the machine still pumping her breasts full of potion, slow and gentle but unrelenting, until the full dose had been administered and the nozzles simply maintained the pressure. She was to stay like that for an entire week, and the beautician let her remain as normal for two hours, before beginning to prepare her body to stay stationary. Rowena knew what would come next, and tried not to squirm in embarrassed pleasure: first, the beautician had her swallow a narrow tube that would directly take care of hydration and nutrition. It would be another hour or so, the tube filling her stomach until it bulged, and ached slightly. They had to expand her stomach, after all, make it capable of supporting a milk production of gallons a day. After waiting, the beautician checked Rowena’s bladder for firmness. He wouldn’t insert the catheter until Rowena was in danger of bursting.

‘Can you hold it?’

Rowena knew she had to answer that question truthfully, and nodded, despite her bladder quivering until the stretch. It had been hours of the tube pumping her belly, and she was starting to feel the pressure of all that liquid. The beautician left her for another hour, whereupon the question was asked again. This time, Rowena badly wanted to say yes, and whimpered; the beautician reached under the bulge of Rowena’s belly (by this time, Rowena was sure that were it not for the nausea-dampening potions, she’d be feeling very ill indeed; her belly looked pregnant, and her skin was reddened and taut) and the first touch of that gloved hand on Rowena’s bladder made her squeak. It was rock hard, and spasmed to the touch. But Rowena held it in. The beautician looked proud of Rowena.

‘Good girl. Do you want to empty out?’ Even as the beautician asked, Rowena felt the application of lubricant, the invading slide of the catheter, the mad struggle not to squirm, not to move, not to even breathe, as the tip of the catheter went in, and in, and eventually pressed against the sphincter of Rowena’s bladder…

‘Relax,’ said the beautician, ‘relax, Rowena.’

She struggled to do so, and there was a terrifying moment when she did, and the catheter pushed in, and she shrieked as nothing happened but her bladder spasming again and again, the beautician increasing the pressure by inflating the end of the catheter.

‘Good girl, good girl… you’re transforming so well, Rowena, your body’s so pliant….’

The release of the catheter was bliss, even though Rowena felt none of the sensation of liquid in her urethra, only the easing of the frantic pressure.

‘If you’re a bad girl, we’ll use this to punish you,’ the beautician said quietly. ‘The Master will fill you up and not let you release, not for days. Once,’ the beautician said, with a kind of breathless eagerness Rowena understood, ‘he let me fill up for a whole month.’

Rowena made a shocked noise, only a little breathless, herself, now that her bladder was emptying. Her belly and breasts were starting to come to the front of her attention again. ‘Nn?’ she said, around the tube filling her mouth and throat.

‘Fucked myself on him without asking.’

Rowena’s eyes widened.  

‘I know,’ the beautician lilted softly, his mouth curling in a wicked and unrepentant smirk. A moment later he was gentle again, tracing the strained nipples of his charge. Rowena squeaked.

‘These are stretching so big!’ he said, pleased. ‘Good _girl_ , Rowena.’

He moved around to the back of Rowena, and began to rub her anus with lubricant. Rowena felt her face flush with embarrassment; she’d already undergone training about her anus being a place she should derive pleasure, and had already experienced insertions and enemas, but what was coming next was—the beautician began to insert the metal rods of the stretching device inside her, and Rowena quivered, trying to focus on her breasts and belly; but both were in stasis, the sensations not changing but for the occasional twitch of her stomach as it emptied, the tube keeping up and maintaining the stretch despite her stomach’s efforts to empty itself.

‘It’s important that we stretch you open before you get too full,’ the beautician said, and Rowena wished he hadn’t. It just made her think about it. The machine clicked on, and the arms began to pull her anus open, slowly. It took an hour, and then she felt her arse stretched shamefully wide and open and vulnerable. The beautician gave a soft, wickedly pleased little noise, and Rowena felt him work the dilation cylinder inside her. It stretched not only her anus, but pulled wide her entire rectum, leaving her bottom helpless to anything that might wish to go in—or out.

‘There, you’re all set up.’ The beautician said cheerfully, and patted one of her breasts. ‘Your breasts should swell all this extra skin taut soon enough, don’t you fret. You’ll be a perfect little milker like the rest in no time.’

‘Mmhm!’ Rowena said, happily. She’d seen the milkers, their breasts as big as their heads, or bigger, their bellies swollen hard with food all the time, their nipple openings stretched so wide they had to have plugs the size of a man’s cockstand, nipples beautifully lush and breasts spidered with blue veins that stood out like lace on their firm flesh. Rowena had always wanted to be one.

She knew there were checks on her as she slept in the cradle, because her body was always clean and coated with moisture, and her nipples kept getting stretched further and further. It was so much, she was sure a few times that she was going to die, the throbbing of her main duct, trying to close around the nozzles that kept getting longer, and longer, driving deeper into her growing teats. She began to see her veins, blue and lush, and the machine was hooked into them when they got fat enough, close enough, an intravenous tube in each one delivering more growth potion directly.

She felt it, watched her teats grow in real time. They swelled and expanded, and then the machine clamped onto her nipples around the nozzles buried in them, and began to pull out, slowly, pulling her breasts longer, pulling her nipples wider and no longer separate from the curve of her teat. The nozzle extended deep, deep inside her, relentlessly pushing her milk ducts wide, wider, until her nipples were only puffy pink rings around the nozzle’s base, stretched taut and helpless due to their nature as mere openings. Her breasts were swelling with milk now, and she was helpless to stop it as the machine pulled, as the potion pushed outward, expanding her teats. They were bright red with the strain when the machine stopped, and Rowena was sure that each one was easily the weight of a small child, and only swelling bigger over the next hour with milk.

That was when the Master came in. He was a finely dressed man, beautiful and tall, glittering in white silk and satin and velvet. He ran gloved hands over her breasts, and changed the machine himself.

‘That’s it,’ he murmured, as the machine began to pump the milk from her, holding her nipples wide and sliding a ring of pressure from the base to the tip of each breast, gushes of milk issuing forth, rich and creamy and perfect. The relief was immediate, and strange, the feeling of milk flushing out of her milk ducts after so many weeks spent with liquid only pushing _in_ … it felt wonderfully _wrong_ , and Rowena couldn’t stop her embarrassed flush, or the whimpering. The Master stroked her teats with one hand, the smooth slide of his leather glove on her sensitive skin enough to make her shiver.

‘Good girl, Rowena.’


End file.
